Cursed Lovers
by IamAbotticelli
Summary: A dangerous artefact is found in Paris by Pete and Myka. They think they've neutralised it but it turns out to be more powerful than they ever imagined. It feeds on Myka's broken heart with potentially devastating consequences. AU. (This will be Bering and Wells so if it isn't your thing, move along please.)
1. Chapter 1

English translation of an excerpt from the journal of the Frenchman Louis Delacroix:

_The burning days and freezing nights of the desert are enough to turn any dullard into a poet. These blazing sands have reignited my boyhood passion for the land of mystery with the language that evaded the scholars for years. I have seen many of these hieroglyphs in my travels and I ache in my heart to know the words those long-dead tongues uttered; my knowledge of Latin and Greek is useless to me here. Still, I have a prize to console myself with. _

_During the construction of New Alexandria, some Greek scrolls were unearthed by a poor worker. I heard of these scrolls through a contact found in a place my dear wife would have thoroughly disapproved of (I did not mean to disappoint you in your afterlife my love!) and promptly bought the scrolls from the grandson of that worker. He had buried them back in the sand just outside his house so they could not be taken by thieves. _

_The sand that pervades every inch of my being – and several inches I didn't know existed prior to my adventure here – is no doubt to blame for the artefact's perfect condition. The scrolls contain a full version of The Iliad; I was faint after I read that familiar first line. It is most rare but not the exciting new find I wished for. Perhaps Papa was right when he told me that my love for the Ancient world would not reap rewards. Perhaps I am a fool for loving a world that no longer exists._

English translation of an excerpt from the obituary of Louis Delacroix:

_A great scholar of the age whose love for his work was legendary amongst his peers. His sudden death after a prosperous trip to Egypt is a great sadness to all who knew him. He is survived by his son Christopher and grandson Mathieu. May God bless his soul._

English translation of an excerpt from the journal of Mathieu Delacroix, grandson of Louis Delacroix:

_It makes no sense! My Grandfather was in perfect health and ecstatic for the trip to Egypt. It was a lifelong dream for him – what in the name of the Lord could have happened to him that he returned a husk of the man I loved? He suffered no physical illness yet his heart seemed broken upon his return. My Father thinks that the death of Grandmother finally caught up with him but I know Grandfather had made his peace with her death and merely looked forward to seeing her again when he too left his earthly body and joined Grandmother in Heaven. Why would he jeopardise that reunion by committing suicide? It makes no sense. _

_Father cannot bear to look at Grandfather's things so I have boxed everything up and packed it in the warm, dry cellar beneath the house. It will all be safe there until either of us can bring ourselves to sort it. Though I fear that will not be soon – war is looming on the horizon and though I may be too young for a battle with the Kaiser, an age of Ares is never conducive to bringing peace into the heart._

English translation of an excerpt from the obituary of Mathieu Delacroix, grandson of Louis Delacroix:

_Mathieu Delacroix, a world-renowned Egyptian scholar, died of age-related causes at the age of 90. He lived a long and happy life and is survived by his son Louis, his daughter Christine and his grandchildren Zoe, Jean and Christopher._

Three Months Ago, Paris:

Zoe Delacroix sighed and stretched, the vertebrae in her back cracking in relief at the change in posture. Her Grandfather had left her, the only historian out of his three Grandchildren, many of his old things. It had taken her years to be able to even look at her inheritance and now articles and books and boxes were strewn around her study which could have been mistaken for a bomb site on a good day.

A door shut in the distance, the sound echoing through the empty rooms of the apartment, and Zoe perked up, changing her previous slump to a pose that radiated excitement and anticipation in equal measure. Soon enough, the door to her study swung open and the Frenchwoman saw her girlfriend Claire waiting at the threshold.

Zoe moved with speed, bolting from her chair and darting over the paper minefield that was her floor, to embrace her lover. She breathed in Claire's vanilla scent and lightly kissed her before pulling away. Her girlfriend's honey eyes twinkled in the afternoon sun.

"How is it going in here? Has any book died a noble death since I left you this morning?" Zoe rolled her eyes and lightly swatted her girlfriend.

"One time! One time I accidentally impale a book with a sword and you never let me forget it!" Claire just laughed.

"There are some things that should never be forgotten. But on a more serious note will I be seeing you for lunch or are you burying yourself in your work again?"

"It's lunchtime already?" It was Claire's turn to roll her eyes.

"Yes sweetheart. Your hatred of clocks will be the death of you one day I swear. But lunch?" Zoe held up one hand in a pleading gesture.

"One more box? Please? I have found boxes of things that belonged to my Grandfather's Grandfather. There are some very interesting artefacts." Her girlfriend looked slightly annoyed but it melted away as she sighed and smiled fondly.

"Well, since you said please. But I am staying with you to make sure that it is only one box."

"I already know which box I want to open." Zoe moved away from her girlfriend and picked up the crowbar from her desk which she used to point at a large, cuboid shaped box. "That one."

"You always started with the largest present at Christmas as a child didn't you?" Claire's amusement laced her voice.

"Ha ha. Such wit. I'm dying with laughter." Her dry tone made her girlfriend chuckle as they moved to the packing crate and began to open it. The wood was old and it didn't take too much effort to reveal the second box inside. It was a plain wooden chest, old but sturdy. Wordlessly, Claire lifted one end as Zoe lifted the other and together they placed it on the wooden desk. The Frenchwoman eased the time-worn lid back. Her breath stuttered. Heart drumming, her hand trembled as she picked up the top scroll and unravelled it, marvelling at its superb condition. The words at the top of the page were so dearly familiar that she stood petrified – a victim of a literary Medusa.

"Zoe are you alright? What…what is it? What does it say?" Claire's hand touched her lover's and the papyrus as she tried to jolt her lover back to awareness. Her lover grabbed her hand from where it rested and guided it to the top of the page; a single finger was outstretched to point to the words.

"See right there? That first line? It says 'Sing, O goddess, of the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, which brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.'" Claire looked at the words her lover pointed to and understood.

"This is big?"

"To me it is." Zoe placed the scroll down carefully, severing the physical contact between them and the artefact. For a second, Claire felt dizzy, her blood rushed to her head. Zoe also swayed minutely.

"What was that?"

"A sign from the gods that it is time for lunch?" The bad joke broke whatever spell had been cast over them. Claire laughed but as her eyes drifted over the stack of scrolls, a swift surge of doubt ripped through her.

"But what about the scrolls? Don't you want to…stay?" Claire crushed the sudden, strange feeling of uncertainty that had risen in her; it made no sense.

"Very much so, but if I do, I will not eat and I am hungry." Zoe moved away from the desk and her girlfriend. She frowned suddenly. Why was she moving away from her girlfriend? She was lucky to have her, Zoe knew she was not the easiest person to love. The thought caused her to turn and reach for Claire, pulling her close as soon as she could. She kissed her girlfriend long and slow and lustfully. Claire blinked and licked her lips after Zoe had pulled away, her pupils dilating as she gazed at her lover.

"What are your feelings on dessert sweetheart?" Zoe laughed, forgetting about the scrolls that had so fascinated her.

"Oh I think it is integral to any lunchtime." The two women left the room, arm in arm, leaving the scrolls to lie innocently on the desk. A laugh drifted through the open door before it faded into nothingness.

Present Day, Paris:

The lashing rain and dark clouds cast a deathly pallor over the 'city of luuuurve' which was what Pete continued to call Paris despite Myka's many frequent eye-rolls and insults. The former Secret Service Agent suspected that her dislike of the phrase was why her partner continued to use it. Hell, she didn't just suspect, she _knew _that was why Pete kept using it. Especially since her annoyance over the phrase stopped her from brooding over the tragedy they were walking into.

Myka turned from the hotel window to look at the unassuming file Artie had quietly handed to them that morning in the sunny breakfast room of the B&B. The Agent could always tell when the older Agent was handing her a bad case because when he met her eyes, there was this huge sadness; for all of his gruffness, Artie really was the Pooh-bear he had been nicknamed as by Claudia.

The sound of knocking broke the silence and she moved into action, crossing the room in quick strides and opening the door. Pete stood outside with a weak smile plastered onto his face.

"C'mon Mykes, it's time to get going."

Plastic tape meant to bar entry hung limply from the sides of the door to the apartment. The whole hallway was deathly silent. Myka shivered as Pete opened the door and they stepped inside. The apartment had been left frozen in time as French investigators tried to figure out what had triggered a seemingly normal lesbian couple to self-destruct in such a manner; she knew they wouldn't have much luck.

The two Warehouse Agents pulled on their purple gloves, a habit ingrained into them by Artie's lectures, and went in two different directions without a word. It was cases like this that made Myka appreciate her long working relationship with Pete. He started to sweep the main living area whilst Myka, gingerly stepping around the dry pool of blood at the foot of the stairs, made her way up to the bedroom and bathroom that lay above the open space.

The dark door at the top of the stairs was ajar and she pushed it open lightly, careful not to disturb anything nearby. A grey light filtered into the room beyond. A bed lay unmade; pyjamas crumpled into a ball on top of the vanilla duvet. Various clothes scattered the floor, mixing with the stained glass shards of a shattered paperweight. Nothing in here had been left unbroken in that disastrous last fight. There was another door on the other side of the room and it was firmly shut, as if to bar intruders from the remnants of the private scene of grief that had awaited the police upon their arrival. Just as she was debating the best path possible to reaching the door without disturbing too much, Pete shouted from below.

"Hey Mykes, I need your help! There's a study down here filled with stuff I think you need to see." Myka silently thanked God and turned away from the forbidding door. She quickly made her way down the stairs, again being careful of the dried puddle of blood, before walking through the open space to the door that now lay open.

The room beyond was filled with crates and Myka could see many ancient items scattered around. Pete was currently testing some of the items but Myka's eyes were drawn to some scrolls which had been placed neatly on the desk.

"Pete have you checked those scrolls?" He shook his head.

"Not yet. Why? Do you think it might be our artefact?" Myka looked again at the devastation that didn't touch the desk.

"Might be. Hand me a large bag will you?" She approached the desk and carefully lifted the scrolls. Her eyes skimmed over a familiar first line. A sudden wave of dizziness hit her and she winced; maybe she should have eaten before they came after all. Pete appeared at her shoulder with a bag and his solid presence made her shake off the unsteady moment. She didn't want him to worry about her. Sluggish guilt churned in her stomach; he'd been worrying about her far too much recently.

"What is it?" he asked. She swallowed, pushing away the feeling as she had so many times before.

"Oh, it's _The Iliad_." Myka made sure to keep her voice even.

"The what now?" His blank look really shouldn't have surprised her but sometimes Myka had a hard time remembering that not everyone loved books as much as she did.

"_The Iliad_, you know, the cornerstone of Western literature?" He still looked blank and she rolled her eyes. "The book the movie _Troy_ was based on?" His eyes lit up and he beamed at her.

"Gotcha Mykes." He suddenly frowned at the scroll. "Wait, how do you know what it is?"

"Some people play video games, some read," she answered dryly. It was his turn to roll his eyes.

"No. I meant how do you understand that? It's all Greek to me." Myka used one hand to swat his upper arm and for a few glorious seconds, she forgot where they were.

"You just couldn't resist that line could you?"

"What can I say Mykes, it called to me."

"Anyway, do you have a large neutraliser bag?" She made a grabbing motion with her free hand. Pete dutifully opened one for her and started to lean away. Myka also leaned away and dropped the scrolls in the bag. There was a large flash and discharge ran along the sides of the bag which Pete quickly sealed. They high fived and Pete rooted in his pockets for the Farnsworth. The familiar buzzing sound filled the room and Artie's grumpy face appeared quickly.

"Well we have an artefact. It's an ancient copy of _The Iliad_." Myka talked first, not giving Artie a chance to speak; she wanted out of this place as quickly as possible. Artie looked away from the screen and started mumble-speaking to himself like he always did.

"_The Iliad_, an epic poem about the rage of one man and how it blinds him from his morals and compassion." His sharp eyes focused back on them. "I'd say that was a definite candidate. Good work you two. Come home and we can test it further." The screen went blank and Myka was already moving to the door; artefact bag clenched tightly in her hands. Pete wasn't as quick on his feet and Myka heard him scrambling behind her. She resolutely avoided looking at the pictures of the smiling couple and their family that adorned the walls. A pair of dark eyes flashed across her mind and she winced, the near continuous pain in her heart spiking at the memory of her former lover. Why hadn't she been good enough for Helena?

AN: The diary/obituary excerpts at the beginning are purely for this chapter alone. I merely wanted people to know the history of the artefact from the beginning. Yes this is a Bering and Wells fic but it takes a while to get there. I am in continuity up to near the end of Season 4, however Paracelsus and the other immortals aren't in this fic so it is au; think of it as Season 4, minus immortality after the whole death plant debacle.


	2. Chapter 2

The flight back was hell for Myka. Pete had fallen asleep quickly, leaving her with her thoughts about Helena. It seemed like all she thought about these days was Helena. The dark haired inventor invaded every waking moment and it was torturous for Myka because all she could remember was how happy Helena had been away from the Warehouse; away from her. Had Helena not been happy with her? Had she failed the woman in some way? She always seemed to be doing that to the people she cared about; she always failed them.

She had failed her father by not being a son, she had failed her sister by not being there for her and she had failed Sam because she had been late. The list went on and on; Claudia, Artie, Mrs Frederic, the Regents, Pete and all the people she hadn't been able to save during her career as a Warehouse agent. Faces, names and situations started to burn through her memories. She winced and brought a hand to her forehead; hoping in vain that the physical gesture could somehow dull the pain. Pete began to snore loudly in the seat next to her, startling her from the downward spiral her thoughts had taken. She looked at Pete affectionately, a look she didn't often give him when he was awake. The smile slipped from her face and, sighing, she squirmed in her seat; trying to get comfortable for the rest of the long flight.

* * *

><p>Artie's office was even more cluttered than when they left it. The man himself was waiting for them when they entered through the thick metal door. It was about 3.00 AM in their time zone and Myka was sure that Artie looked about as tired as she felt.<p>

"Hey Artie, what's up? You miss us already? We were only gone for about two days," said Pete, smiling as he talked to the older agent. Myka kept quiet; she hadn't slept for much of the journey home and didn't feel up to conversation. Artie gave a bark of laughter which was echoed by Trailer from his basket.

"Ha! I just wanted to be up to get this contained as quickly as possible. It sounds like a powerful artefact," his eyes were fixed on the grey metal case that Pete was carrying, "could you please place it on the table Pete? I'd like to get started right away." Pete lifted the case on to the sturdy table and undid the metal clasps. Artie meanwhile had pulled on a set of the bright purple gloves they all wore and was studying the case like it might explode at any moment. Considering how long he had worked for the Warehouse that might just have happened to him before, Myka mused. Pete moved quickly away from the case and she supressed a smile.

"So, uh, Artie can we, like, go?" The old man waved them away, not bothering to reply verbally, and they both hurried through the white corridor and out into the cold desert underneath the grey South Dakotan sky. The air was cold and Myka could barely smell the lingering cow stench that never seemed to go away. She looked out into the lightening darkness, towards the horizon she could not see. Pete placed a warm hand on her shoulder and squeezed slightly. "C'mon Mykes, I'll drive us home." She allowed herself to be gently guided away and she stiffly climbed into the car. The tiredness that had been snapping at her heels like a dog chasing after a cat settled into her bones and she felt her eyes beginning to drift close as the car pulled away from the Warehouse.

* * *

><p>A thick shaft of daylight was lying across her eyes when she woke up. She stared at the ceiling of her room for a minute, trying to remember how she got there. Since the memory wasn't forthcoming, she assumed that she had only been half conscious when Pete had brought her back to the B and B.<p>

Sitting up, she winced. Her mouth felt dry as if something had been nesting in it overnight. She swallowed a few times, trying to shift the taste, before she got up from the bed and padded over towards her private bathroom.

The harsh light of the bathroom fully revealed just how terrible she looked. Dark circles lined her eyes and her cheeks were gaunt. Her thick frizzy hair was tangled and sticking up in all directions. She was also wearing the same clothes she had worn yesterday. Sighing, she stripped off quickly and entered the shower; she ignored just how much weight she had lost over the past few months.

The warm spray of water ran down her back, loosening the previously tense muscles. She allowed herself a few blissful mindless minutes under the spray. It was tempting to just stay there but the logical part of her mind interceded and reminded her that the hot water would eventually run out. Reluctantly, she dragged her mind away from the welcoming emptiness she had been feeling more and more and began to wash herself mechanically. She focused on the actions with the same single-minded focus that made her a good agent. Soon she was done and she stepped out into the cold, biting air.

A wave of misery battered her defences but she pushed it back as she had done before, as she had always done before. She would carry on, wounded perhaps (here a flash of dark enticing eyes flitted across her thoughts), but carry on until she couldn't any longer. Lines of poetry, overlapping and tangling in her vast brain, leapt forwards, vying to be the line that described her current state but she threw them away, back into the dark pits where they belonged; literature of late held no love for her anymore.

Carry on, carry on, carry on. She snorted as she returned to her room: was that mantra etched onto her bones? She shook her head and turned to face the forbidding door. Breath filled her lungs and she stared at the dark wood, bracing herself for the day to come. Myka took a step forwards and another and her day began.

* * *

><p>Artie was sitting at his desk, examining maps of Alexandria on the computer when she arrived at the Warehouse. He looked up at her entrance, his bushy eyebrows twitching, and he greeted her with his usual grumbling; though she noticed that he was toning it down. Myka smiled at him, a big smile that hurt her cheek muscles.<p>

"Hey Artie, how are you?" He looked at her as if he was assessing her. He then turned away and waved a hand in the air as he replied,

"Fine! Fine thank you Myka. I wasn't expecting you in today. I thought you'd follow Pete's example." She laughed, she had looked in on Pete before she left and he was still sleeping.

"No. I didn't feel like lounging around and doing nothing. Is there any inventory I can do?" Artie's eyes immediately turned towards her again and she could see the surprise on his face; it's not like any of them asked to do inventory. Mentally she prepared herself, she knew that if she didn't give Artie something believable he'd badger her into submission. The smile dropped from her face and she allowed her very real tiredness to show. "Look, Artie, I can't sit around and do nothing. Not when I can still remember those crime scene photos. Please, give me something to do. I just," she paused, frustration filling her as she tried to phrase how she felt, "I can't, no, I need to not think about that case for a long time." A thick silence filled the air. Artie, sighing, took off his glasses and began to clean them on his shirt.

"Claudia is in the Farnsworth aisle and I believe she could use some assistance." Myka nodded and left the office, heading for her world of endless wonder.

* * *

><p>However she had left behind a frowning Artie whose mind was roiling with worry.<p>

"Trouble, Agent Nielsen?" asked a calm voice from behind him. Artie jumped and pressed a single hand to his heart as he turned around to face the speaker.

"You know I hate it when you do that Mrs Frederic," he grumbled. A small mysterious smile appeared on the Caretaker's face, softening her usually harsh appearance.

"I know," the smile disappeared as quickly as it had come, "but please answer my question Agent Nielsen." Artie ran a hand through his hair and opened his mouth several times, as if he was beginning to answer, before closing it again. Mrs Frederic's stare remained implacable. Finally, sighing, he sat down heavily in his chair.

"I'm worried about Myka." Mrs Frederic sat down primly in the other chair, Claudia's usual chair, and nodded.

"Go on." Her voice was as even as if they were discussing the weather. Artie envied that façade of calmness; he knew he could never emulate it.

"Ever since the incident with the hyena jaw bone, Myka, Agent Bering, has been, well, different to usual." Mrs Frederic's face, if possible, grew stiller. "She, well, she," he sighed and rubbed his forehead with his hand, "the best way I can explain it is that she just _stopped_."

"Stopped?"

"Yes, stopped! As though a part of her stopped and didn't start again. She was picking herself up but then there was the cancer and she retreated into herself." Not that Artie blamed her of course, cancer was the great modern medical fear and it had terrified him to know that one of his agents could be betrayed by her own body. He thanked G-d every day that the tumour had been benign; all the occupants of the B and B did.

"What do you think caused her to, ah, _stop_ in the first place?" Artie had to resist from laughing at the absurdity of the question; as if there could be any question.

"The case of the hyena jaw bone was also when she and Pete were reunited with the former Warehouse Agent Helena Wells, although I believe she goes by Emily Lake now." Mrs Frederic nodded again.

Yes, the mere mention of Helena Wells in connection to Myka always seemed to explain everything. The two had never been explicit or ever caught doing _something_ together (which Artie was incredibly thankful for) but there had always been subtle hints, a tangible connection between the two; one that was visible even to old fogeys like himself and blatantly obvious to the younger Warehouse generation. All of the agents knew to never mention H.G. Wells in Myka's presence. Claudia had even warned Abigail Cho during her first few days at the Warehouse to not ask Myka about her love life, putting aside her initial dislike of the woman for the sake of the agent she considered a sister in all but blood.

"If you had concerns about her mental well-being, why did you send Agent Bering on the recent Parisian case? It had common areas, shall we say? You must have known that she would find this case particularly disturbing." Her tone was even and she gave away no hint of her feelings but Artie knew that she was unhappy with the situation. He knew it because he was himself.

"Honestly? I didn't feel like I had a choice. Agent Jinks and Agent Donovan had left the day before to work on a case in the heart of Alabama. They were too far away from an airport for me to recall them. Agent Donovan was going to work on some technical issues that needed fixing before she and Agent Jinks were called away so I needed to stay to work on them in her stead as neither Agent Bering nor Agent Lattimer have the technical expertise necessary. I also couldn't delay sending agents to retrieve the Parisian artefact because it had already violently claimed the lives of two people and I believed that it needed to be retrieved as quickly as possible. The decision to send Agent Bering on this case was not made lightly and I regret that the decision had to be made. I take full responsibility for it." Mrs Frederic' eyes were assessing him and he resisted the urge to squirm underneath her implacable gaze.

"What else Arthur?" He resisted the urge to wince. Of course the Caretaker would know there was more.

"Agent Bering is…fragile right now. She doesn't deal well with being considered not able to do her job properly. If I had delayed the mission only to send Agents Donovan and Jinks, Myka would have noticed and she would have taken it badly when she realised exactly why I was hesitating to send her on that case. Agent Bering values her privacy when it comes to…certainthings." He stopped, unsure if he should continue, but Mrs Frederic finished his reasoning for him.

"And one of her most private areas is personal relationships and thus her relationship with Helena Wells." Artie nodded, taking off his glasses and cleaning them on the edge of his shirt.

"Exactly."

"Do you think Agent Bering would benefit from time with Ms Cho?"

"Yes but only if she chooses to do it. Agent Bering can be stubborn when it comes to her own personal welfare and I don't think she'll choose to go to Abigail by herself."

"What if Ms Cho were to go to Agent Bering?" Artie looked at her.

"Yes, because that worked so well last time," he said dryly. The Caretaker gave him one of her rare frustrated looks.

"Last time, Ms Cho hardly knew any of you and you are not the easiest man to, ah," she paused, searching for the right word.

"One up?" He suggested. Mrs Frederic glared at him then. "I think you are underestimating Agent Bering's intelligence. She is perceptive and she will notice if Abigail tries to trick her into therapy. The potential consequences of that could be devastating. If she thinks we think that she isn't capable," The Caretaker interrupted him.

"Agent Bering's capability as a field agent isn't under question." He rose from his chair and pointed a finger at her.

"Myka won't see it that way!" Mrs Frederic rose from her seat, as stately as ever.

"Then what do you suggest Arthur? That we just leave her alone and don't try to help?" Her words weren't loud but they cut deeper than any shout could.

"No! That is not what I am suggesting," he breathed in deeply and spoke more evenly, "what I am suggesting is that we let Myka know that we are here for her should she need support. Maybe we can ask Abigail to approach her openly, but _privately, _about the recent case and give her the offer of support should she need it. Pete is already stuck to her side like glue and Claudia and Steve are doing what they can. Myka is an exceptionally strong woman and she is capable of coming back from this, she just needs time."

"Fine. We will follow your course of action. In addition I will ask Ms Cho to keep an eye on Agent Bering and to report to you if she feels that Agent Bering needs more help. Is that acceptable Agent Nielsen?"

"Yes. It's fine." He turned away from the Caretaker and began to shuffle some papers around. "Oh by the way, when will you speak to Abigail?" There was no answer and he looked behind him before groaning and grumbling, "I hate it when she does that." The empty room behind him was almost mocking in its silence.

* * *

><p>Several hundred miles away, Helena Wells was working in her lab in Wisconsin. Her hands shook and you could almost see the dark circles that lined her eyes through her makeup. She had come close to taking a sick day but she didn't want to be left alone in an empty house with her thoughts of those dark wounded eyes and the bright laughter she hadn't heard in far too long. She sighed, pushing away the image of the woman that haunted her dreams, and hunched over a microscope.<p>

**AN: Ok. I just wanted to say that the reason I made Myka's tumour benign was because I honestly don't think that I can accurately write about the treatment process had it not been. I have had personal experience from the perspective of a close relative of a cancer sufferer but I don't know enough about the treatment to write about it effectively. I just thought that I should clarify that. Also, Helena will play a role and I wanted you to see her but her time to be on centre stage hasn't quite yet come.**


	3. Chapter 3

Myka woke up, her breath was stuttering and gasping. She quickly brushed her wet cheeks with the heel of her hand. Her dreams were filled with Helena. In truth, as soon as she had met the enticing woman at gunpoint the dreams of dark hair, dark eyes and talented fingers had begun and had not stopped since. Sometimes she dreamt of that day in Yellowstone and Helena did take the shot that Myka had all but begged her to. Other times her mind created a mishmash of H.G's old London home where they had first met and the rooms they had shared here at the B and B; they'd go on adventures so filled with life, laughter and love that she could almost feel the warmth of Helena's presence again. Then there were the darker dreams, darker than Helena's cold eyes staring into hers as she pulled the trigger but not quite as painful as the ones filled with the memories of love.

Her waking moments were not quite as bad. She could fight the memories when she was awake and make herself forget the warmth of an embrace, the curved lips and the sense of presence Helena always exuded. Though since Paris it had been harder to stem the tide of flowing remembrances.

Myka knew she was reaching her limit. Days that once passed in a blur were agonisingly long, every minute stamped into her unerring memory, and so much harder to live through. Yet she was stubborn, she still tried to fight, to live on by grasping at small pleasures, if only because she couldn't bear to think of the pain she would selfishly leave behind if she gave up.

In that grey light of the early morning that filtered through her bedroom window, she wondered if Helena would feel pain at her passing and a small, self-centred part of her wanted to inflict irreparable damage on the dark-haired inventor; a woman who had already lost too many loved ones.

Wincing, she tore her mind away. Lately her thoughts always returned to Helena; it was like a sick compulsion that scraped raw her healing wounds. It wasn't healthy to obsess over the woman, she knew that, _she did_, but she just couldn't stop. She sighed, closed her eyes and breathed in deeply. Today, she'd forget Helena today. Yes, that was exactly what was going to happen. Myka let out a weak laugh. She'd never been very good at lying to herself.

The Warehouse agent stared at the ceiling before sighing and pushing herself upright. It was time for her to get up and fight again; it was time to carry on.

Myka was washed, dressed, and quietly walking down the stairs when she heard the voices filtering into the hall from the breakfast room.

"Myka will be alright Claudes. You know she's as tough as they get." She stopped where she was and frowned. Why was Pete reassuring Claudia about her? Had they noticed what she'd been trying to hide?

"I know that Pete! But she looks so tired, like, all the time and it can't just be about she-who-must-not-be-named. Mykes has been dealing with that for a long ass time. I think there's something more going on!" Myka waited for Pete to reassure Claudia again, for him to tell the younger girl that everything would be alright, that Myka herself was alright. However Pete remained silent for a long time. The Warehouse agent standing on the stairs looked up at the ceiling and bit her lower lip, her eyes were watering. She breathed in broken gasps of air and swallowed a few times before loudly stomping down the last few steps and shouting,

"Pete! You better not have finished off the muffins!" She didn't wait for an answer as she strode through the hall, through the living room and into the breakfast room. Pete, Steve and Claudia were the only ones sitting down at the table but Myka caught a flash of Abigail's back as the therapist entered the kitchen. Claudia was looking away from her, eyes cast downward; guilt. Pete's gaze was fixed on the table but his normally cheerful face was blank; worry. Only Steve looked up at her, his blue eyes assessing her, and Myka smiled at him.

"Uh, oh, hey Mykes. Here, I saved a triple chocolate muffin for you," Pete's voice was clear and he finally looked at her, weakly offering a muffin. She smiled at him, a different, softer smile to the one she'd used on Steve and gently took the offering.

"Thanks Pete." Myka sat down and a heavy silence pervaded the table. Claudia had started fidgeting which Myka knew the younger agent did in awkward situations. "Hey Claudia, how's that new program doing? The one you uploaded a few days ago." Claudia's body stiffened before melting into a more relaxed pose as she looked at Myka.

"It's doing really well. I mean, uh, there may have been a slight technical problem in the dark vault but I fixed that so quickly and Artie doesn't know what he's talking about. I mean, pfftt. Danger? What danger? That old fossil wouldn't know danger if it bit him on the nose." Claudia, seeming to realise that she was babbling, stopped abruptly but her warm, wide eyes were fixed on Myka. The older Warehouse agent smiled reassuringly at her and Claudia's shoulders lost some of their tension.

"I'm sure Artie has already forgiven you Claudia. Just try not to upset him for a couple of days." Claudia grinned at her.

"I'll try but I'm making no promises." Steve snorted and Claudia threw a piece of her muffin at him.

"What? I didn't say anything!" Claudia gave him a sardonic look.

"You didn't have to Jinksy. C'mon, let's go to the Warehouse. I have something awesome to show you." Steve looked sceptical.

"Will this awesome thing upset Artie?" Myka asked as Claudia was about to launch another pastry missile at the Buddhist.

"Uh…maybe?" Pete snorted and Myka turned to him.

"Hey Pete, why don't you go with them and make sure nothing blows up? I'll follow you to the Warehouse later." Her partner lost his previous amusement and he looked worriedly at her. "Pete, I'm fine. I'm not alone, Abigail's here. I'll follow you later alright?" She caught Steve frowning out of the corner of her eye. He didn't call her out on her lie though there wasn't much of a point; apparently everyone knew what she was lying about.

"Uh ok, Mykes. If you're sure." Pete was hesitant but Claudia and Steve had started to stand; the latter two knew it was pointless to push.

"I'm sure, go on. I'll be fine." Steve's frown deepened and Myka resisted the urge to wince. However her partner took the hint and stood up. Claudia and Steve quickly left the room, both casting worried glances back at the two of them. Pete hesitated for a long moment before bending down and giving her an awkward hug.

"Right. Ok. I'll see you later partner," He started to trail out, walking backwards, and he gave her a mock salute with double finger guns, "don't keep me waiting long!" He backed into a chair and Myka laughed as he flailed around like a fish on dry land.

"I won't Pete. See you later!" Her partner finally managed to get himself upright and nodded at her before turning around and walking out to the car.

Myka's smile dropped and she sighed. Her long fingers started to pick at the muffin as the sound of the leaving car faded away. She slumped slightly in her chair but she didn't jump when Abigail's voice sounded behind her,

"So you heard what they were talking about before you came in here?" The Warehouse agent huffed but she didn't turn around.

"Was it that obvious?" Her dry tone seemed to encourage the therapist as Abigail moved closer and sat opposite to her at the table.

"Only to someone who has spent a lifetime observing people. You comforted Claudia and Pete without letting on that you knew what they had said." Myka looked at the other woman and smiled weakly.

"They're worried about me. It wouldn't have been right to snap at them." Abigail's dark eyes were assessing her, as Steve's had done earlier, but there was a sharper edge to them. It was harder to hide things from this woman even though she couldn't detect lies or have vibes or hack your government file like she was setting up a Facebook account.

"Are they right to be worried?" Myka's lips quirked.

"Getting right to the point huh?" The therapist nodded.

"Nice deflection and yes I am. I didn't think you'd appreciate a subtle approach when it comes to this." Abigail's eyes didn't waver as she spoke and there was a calm certainty in her voice. She believed that 'this' was going to happen and Myka could hardly stop her without completely damning herself.

"Thank you. What is 'this' exactly?" The Warehouse agent had to tread carefully here. She suspected that this was an assessment of her mental state, possibly ordered by Artie or Mrs Frederick or even the Regents, but leaping to conclusions wouldn't help; she had to gather her information first.

"This isn't an official assessment. The Paris case was a horrible case and I am offering my support in my official capacity as a therapist." Her formal language was soothing to Myka; emotionally distant so it wasn't messy but honest and clear. Her mind briefly flickered to Helena's words, formal words that had filled her childhood and adult years with contentment, but she pushed the memories away again. She was going to forget Helena today. She had to remember that.

"I'll be fine. That case was…bad but I am coping with it as I have coped with other horrible and far more personal cases." Myka knew her tone was sharp but she didn't modify it. It would have been more suspicious, and more out of character, if she'd reacted favourably to this. Abigail's eyes were still assessing but Myka could almost see her decide to step back from the situation for now as she leaned back in the chair and smiled at the Warehouse agent.

"Of course. I merely wanted to make the offer privately to you. Promise me you'll keep it in mind?" Her voice was pleasant and it didn't reflect any antagonism on the therapist's part about the rebuttal. Myka smiled her best insincere smile and nodded.

"Of course."

AN: Sorry for the long wait. I had exams at Uni and was panicking. Reviews are welcome and constructive criticism would be appreciated!


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